A Life of Crime
by chasingriver
Summary: What secrets lurk in Mycroft's past?


**A/N:** Written for **devsfan55** for the **2013 Mystrade Valentine's Day Exchange**.

Beta: deklava

* * *

Greg pressed him against the wall and kissed him so hard he dropped his umbrella. "Dinner was delicious," Greg muttered, "but I'm still hungry."

"Mm, that's a classy pickup line, Gregory, but I'd have to agree," he giggled - something that only happened when he'd had a bit too much wine.

Their enthusiastic snog turned into a bit of an earnest grope. Greg's hand was on his arse, pulling them closer together and rubbing their half-hard erections through layers of clothing. Mycroft finally dragged himself away. "Come on, let's get inside; I don't want all of your neighbours watching us."

"Not into that, eh?" Greg giggled, and fumbled in his pockets for his keys. He looked up at Mycroft in confusion. "Did I give them to you?"

"The keys? No. Don't you have them?"

He shook his head and looked a bit panicked. "Bloody hell. I must have left them at work."

"We could always break in," Mycroft muttered, pulling Greg back in for another kiss.

"I don't carry a gun; I can't exactly shoot the lock off."

"Wasn't talking about you," he replied. "Give me my umbrella."

"What're gonna do? _Poke_ it open?"

Mycroft giggled again. "Your pickup lines aren't getting any better, Gregory. Now give me the umbrella."

Greg shrugged and retrieved it. "Don't see what you're gonna do with it."

Mycroft unscrewed the tip and retrieved a small bundle of thin, metal tools from a hollowed-out area inside. He held them up victoriously.

"Are those… lock picks?" Greg asked, stunned.

He just grinned and went to work on the lock. It took less than a minute before it clicked open.

"Voila," he said, and pulled Greg into the warmth of the flat.

"Bloody hell! Where did you learn to do that?" Greg was still staring back at the open door with disbelief.

Mycroft took off his coat and dragged him towards the sofa. "A childhood hobby. Come on, let's continue what we started, hm?"

"Oh, I don't know," Greg replied playfully, fixing him in his gaze. "I'm not sure I can trust you now. What sort of person carries lock picks in their umbrella? Of course, it explains why you don't go anywhere without the thing. Apparently I'm dating a cat burglar."

"I'm nothing of the sort," he retorted. "You just wish you could… hey!" Greg had grabbed his wrists and pulled them behind his back, slapping on a pair of handcuffs.

"I can't have you running off, now that I've caught you, can I? Besides," he added, running his hand across the front of Mycroft's trousers, "I have to check you for weapons; every inch of you. Who knows what you could have stashed away on that delicious body of yours?"

"Mm," he purred. "I'm at your mercy, Detective Inspector."

"You're damned right you are." Greg flashed him a dazzling grin and pushed him gently back onto the sofa.

Greg straddled his lap and started to undo the buttons on his shirt.

"That won't come off, you know, with the cuffs…" Mycroft started.

"Who said anything about off?" Greg replied, as he pushed the expensive cotton shirt over his shoulders. "I just want a little leverage for my 'interrogation'." He rubbed a finger across one of his nipples and then pinched it.

Mycroft let out a surprised yelp.

"Now, how long have you led this horrific life of crime?" Greg teased.

"You'll never break me," he countered. "I can withstand anything."

Greg tweaked his nipple harder, which would have been more effective if Mycroft hadn't enjoyed the pain. "Mm, yes, that's good," he groaned. The mild pain and delicious friction of Greg sitting in his lap were making him hard. The handcuffs were an added bonus. He had no idea Greg was interested; he'd have to buy him some real cuffs. Padded ones.

"Who got you involved with the criminal element? Was it Sherlock?" Greg's hands roamed over his chest, more fond than intimidating.

Mycroft ground his hips against Greg. "I'll never tell. Do your worst," he purred, desperately hoping that Greg would force him to his knees and make him suck his cock.

Greg climbed from his lap and started to undo Mycroft's trousers, not his own.

"What on earth are you doing?" Mycroft asked. "Not that I'm complaining," he added quickly, as Greg's hand slid along his erection.

"I have my own methods of persuasion," Greg replied, before wrapping his lips around Mycroft's cock.

He fell back against the sofa with a soft thud. Greg's mouth felt wonderful, and it took him a few moments to gather enough coherence to speak. "If this is how you interrogate all of your suspects, Detective Inspector… nghh…" he trailed off as Greg's tongue teased him a bit more. "I'm amazed they aren't lined up out the front door, begging to be arrested," he finished breathlessly, rather surprised he'd managed that much before giving up on speech entirely.

Greg pulled off long enough to reply, "Mm, no, this is my _special _interrogation technique."

"It seems to be working," Mycroft muttered as he thrust his hips upwards. It didn't take long before Greg's talented mouth had him coming hard, straining with delight against the unyielding steel cuffs.

_The cuffs. _

Greg got back to his feet and wiped his mouth with a satisfied grin. "There. Now all those post-orgasmic neuro-chemicals'll kick in and you'll tell me anything I want to know. Better than truth serum."

"I can think of one thing you'd probably like to know," Mycroft replied.

"Yeah? What's that?"

"The location of your handcuff keys."

There was a long pause.

"Oh."

"Indeed," Mycroft replied, giggling a little. "So, Detective Inspector, have you ever wanted to learn how to pick locks?"


End file.
